Odyssey of the Black Knight
by Keyed
Summary: Grimdark adventure. Yuri too. Grimdark yuri adventure. Reviews appreciated.
1. Dive

Then, even nothingness was not, nor existence.

There was no air then, nor the heavens beyond it.

What covered it? Where was it? In whose keeping?

Was there then cosmic water, in depths unfathomed?

- The Rig Veda

Homura fell from heaven, screaming an unheard plea to a fool about to make a deal with the devil.

Her vision clouded, dazed from the Walpurgis's blast, but she could still make out a saccharine-pink sparkle in the distance, that sick color of damnation that haunted her thoughts and her dreams. Once again she failed Madoka. Once again, her wish went unfulfilled – Homura couldn't protect her… _friend_ from the predations of that monstrous rat, couldn't save her from the grim fate assigned by a cold, dying universe. Wind whipping through her black locks, Homura composed herself as she descended. Despair was death. Despair was the first step towards oblivion without Madoka. She fought the bubbling curses that churned in her heart, felt cracks in her exhausted soul-diamond mend through sheer force of will. Iron walls of unbreakable resolve smothered the beast clawing for release from her phylactery - and as the moment passed, she turned to matters at hand.

The embryonic witch grit her teeth and shut her eyes as she prepared another leap to the sixteenth of March. Another chance to find redemption and honor her promise. As always, the gears embedded into her time-targe spun and – ground to a shuddering halt.

Something was desperately wrong.

Homura continued to fall, plunging into the sea. She struggled to surface from the pitch-black waters, yet her body refused to obey the commands of her mind. Water flooded her nostrils, her lungs, her eardrums, and the corners of her sight grew hazy, before the lich-body finally lost consciousness beneath turbulent waves.

* * *

><p>"So much to do, so little time…" whispered a voice from the darkness.<p>

Homura's eyelids fluttered open. She sat up, pulling her knees to her chest.

This wasn't the hospital.

"W-wha…"

The Puella Magi took stock of her surroundings.

All around was empty void, but she lay on top of an odd surface that had the texture and color of stained glass. Homura blinked as she peered across the edge of a round platform. She stretched out, rising to her feet. Everything was in order. The pillar she stood upon had a rather curious mosaic design embedded into the floor – an image of Mami Tomoe having a cup of tea met Homura's violet gaze. She swallowed as Homura recalled the final moments before she awoke in this place. "Am-Am I dead?" wondered the girl aloud. Curiosity quickly devolved to anger for a split second, but the Puella Magi caught herself in time. "No. No, I can't be dead. That would break the contract-"

"Take your time," interrupted the voice. It had an alien, detached quality to it, Homura thought-

Oh no.

"Incubator," roared Homura, "where am I? Show yourself, rat."

Homura tried to call forth her arsenal, reflexively drawing a nine-millimeter semi-automatic. But the magic would not obey and her she grasped dead air between her fingers. In horror, the girl realized her middle fingernail no longer bore the mark of the beast, that she no longer had the gift of the Puella Magi.

That she was, in all likelihood, dead.

Or worse.

Homura sniffed the air. She couldn't discern the wrong – for want of a better phrase – scent of twisted magic, so it seemed unlikely that this place was a witch barrier.

"I suppose I'm dreaming, then?"

The voice was silent for a moment, before it continued, this time with a subtle tone of command.

"Don't be afraid. The door is still shut. Now, step forward."

Homura stood in obstinate defiance. "Not until I learn what's going on. You're not Kyubey. Who are you? Where am I? I want answers."

"Ah," soothed the disembodied voice cryptically, "All will be explained in time. For now… know that your journey has yet to begin. And that Kaname Madoka may yet be saved."

Homura glared into the infinite darkness, before slapping herself mentally for the pointless gesture. She rose to her feet and took a step forward. Three stone pedestals emerged from the crystal floor, shattering thousands of delicate tiles. Above these materialized weapons. Antiquated weapons at first glance – a gnarled quarterstaff, a dented targe, and a sword with a tarnished silver blade lay abandoned beneath blankets of ageless dust.

"If you give it form… It will give you strength. Choose well."

Homura approached the collection and tested the brassy shield. In dimensions and weight it was identical to her weapon as a Puella Magi. Etched across the front were golden witch-runes that gave off a frozen glow in the formless void.

"The power of the guardian. Kindness to aid friends. A shield to repel all."

Homura tied the bronze targe to her left arm. Better to take what was familiar in this strange and sinister place.

"Your path is set," said the voice, "Now, what will you give up in exchange?"

"What?"

"Power has its price," was the only response.

She examined the remaining pedestals carefully. Always practical, the girl was drawn first to the sword. The edge was almost obsidian in color from an advanced degree of corrosion. Emblazoned into the pommel was an inscription: "The power of the warrior. Invincible courage. A sword of terrible destruction."

Homura's mind wandered to thoughts of Sayaka Miki, the naïve girl's steel and valor that conquered monstrous evil – even as her despair warped her soul into one of the abyssal things she vowed to destroy.

She hesitated to discard the blade, and so chose to inspect the staff. It was even less impressive than the sword; time had eaten away what was probably once a handsome finish, and carved into the shaft were faint letters.

"The power of the mystic. Inner strength. A staff of wonder and ruin."

Homura clenched a fist subconsciously. Miracles and magic were the reason she blundered about in the space-time continuum, grasping desperately for an exit from an endless labyrinth with grotesque horrors lurking in every corner. Even before unraveling the dark conspiracy that fueled the Soul Gems, Homura cared little for the "gift" of magic; cold lead and high explosives provided much more firepower than her meager spirit-bolts.

The moment she touched the staff, purple flames devoured the wood and left a residue of grey ash. The pedestals now vanished into a haze of white fog, before they vaporized and left gaping wounds in the mosaic. Tomoe Mami was now bereft of her head.

And then, a familiar… familiar leapt out of the floor, a squat, round minion whose "head" seemed to be composed of alternating concentric blue and white rings. It waddled towards Homura, who broke out into cold sweat. Familiars were spawned by witches, and she recalled this one was the child of Charlotte.

Suddenly, she stumbled as the fingers of her right hand wrapped around the hilt of a shining, golden sword. The weight of the weapon threw her off balance briefly. The sight of the yellow blade threw the Pyotr into a frenzy, and it leapt at the not-so-magical girl; Homura reflexively raised her shield to deflect the strike, as she did with so many other familiars across so many other time-lines. The force of the impact caused the familiar to bounce off and hit the floor with a dull thud, its spindly legs flailing helplessly about. Homura rushed six paces forward and ran the fallen monster through its bulls-eye.

"Well done, Akemi Homura," said the voice.

"You still haven't introduced yourself," grumbled Homura as she tested the balance of her new saber. Curiously, the pommel seemed to expand or shrink in response to her thoughts.

"You'll find out soon enough."

At that, the entire floor shattered, and once more Homura found herself falling into a bottomless void… which swiftly reorganized itself into a rather good approximation of the hospital ward Homura left every March 16th.

Gravity reversed its orientation.

Homura found herself somehow falling _up_ and landing on a linoleum floor. She staggered to her feet, nauseous. Her weapons were gone.

She looked up. A hospital orderly in algae-green scrubs was waiting, clipboard and questionnaire in hand. The man handed off the package to a rather confused Homura, before retreating through the door in eerie silence.

Sterile ceiling lights flickered, then dimmed slightly.

"But first things first," spoke the voice. "The door won't open just yet. I need to know more about you."

So she was still dreaming. Or dead. Or something went wrong with space-time and she was in Hell.

Drat.

Homura looked at the paper in front of her. On it was a single question: What are you afraid of? She penned in a single word – "Nothing."

The letters vanished. Another question began to write itself on the blank sheet.

What do you want out of life? "To protect Madoka as she protected me."

This time, a response: Is that all? Truly? You're lying to yourself, you know.

Homura winced. "I'll be content if I can just have that wish fulfilled."

Fair enough. Last question – What's most important to you?

She scribbled in the kanji for Kaname Madoka.

The formless phantom whispered in her ears again. "You're not afraid of anything. You want to protect Kaname Madoka, the most precious thing in your heart. Your quest begins at midnight. Though your road will be fraught with peril, be true to yourself and you will see the light of the sun by the journey's end."

Homura snorted. "As if I expected anything less."

"The day you will open the door is both far off, and very near."

After a blink, the hospital disappeared. Homura found herself once more in the unreal dreamscape, standing atop another pillar, this one capped by a mosaic of Miki Sayaka. This design was more than a little twisted – her bottom half had been replaced by Oktavia von Seckendorff's ichthyoidal tail, and it was evident the blue-haired mermaid was… crying.

A swarm of Pyotrs clawed their way through the floor tiling, surrounding a defenseless Homura. They danced around her in a menacing gait, but did not move for the kill. The golden sword and brass shield now returned to Homura's side – she willed them into existence, much as she would her old arsenal – and once more the rotund beasts were upon her.

Homura fought with an inhuman precision tempered by thousands of years of hopeless war. She mastered the use of every mundane weapon in her endless repeats of time, from the crude .357 revolver favored by lowly street thugs, to laser-guided missiles that could dispense hundreds of explosive submunitions across a city block. She hadn't overlooked the use of melee weapons, either; the longsword beneath her fingertips behaved exactly like the katana she trained with to 4th-dan proficiency.

She butchered the familiars without pity or quarter, tearing a swath of destruction through the faceless horde. The golden blade was an instrument of her peerless physical form, itself an extension of her iron will and frozen heart. In the violence she found catharsis. Every slash, every thrust, every vicious cut expelled long suppressed hatred, overwhelming agony from seeing her friends die over and over and over. The sheer joy she took in slaughtering the hapless Pyotrs – no different than wheat beneath the sickle – gave her a chance to forget the despair that bubbled in her soul, to bury the memories of cradling a fallen Madoka in the twilight moments before the end of the world.

And then, all too soon, it was over.

She was alone on the platform, sweat trickling down her scalp and chest. Homura flipped her hair nonchalantly, reasserting her control over the black rage. All around her, the floor collapsed, their fragments levitating into the inky darkness. These rearranged themselves into a staircase of sorts. The bluish crystal shards began to shift color to an uncomfortably familiar pink.

Homura ascended them nonetheless.

Now she found herself on yet another circular platform, this one larger than the others. The floor design was patterned in the shape of Mahou Shoujo Kaname Madoka, her eyes closed and cradling a black cat.

Homura faltered for a moment.

"The closer you get to the light," said the voice quietly, "the darker your shadow will become."

Homura's superhuman senses detected a distant rumble, and she turned around. Her shadow on the tiles suddenly began to twist and scream, rising off the floor. Hideous floral patterns now dotted the terrifying shade, which assumed an unwelcome form.

Charlotte – the dessert witch – was manifest.

"But don't be afraid. Don't forget."

Homura sharpened her focus and brought her blade up to fighting position. She'd killed the monstrosity more times than she cared to count. In fact, she lost track somewhere around the forty-eighth. The only weakness of the witch was, if she recalled correctly –

The serpentine clown descended upon Homura, maw gaping wide. She threw herself to the side a split second before the teeth of the beast clamped shut, and stabbed hard at the flank of the abomination. The strike did no appreciable damage; it cut through misty fabric that gave no resistance to the sword and mended itself immediately after the incision was withdrawn. Homura needed to go for the head of the snake.

But the distraction was good enough. Homura shifted her weight and crouched down, while Charlotte unhinged her jaw once more and surged towards what she – it – thought was delicious cheese.

Homura had only one chance, one blow to decapitate the witch. She charged forward and struck high into the roof of Charlotte's mouth, the unconquered force of a human soul on fire behind the desperate thrust.

Time stopped.

"Don't forget. Always, somewhere, someone is fighting for you. As long as you remember her, you are not alone.

But you are the one who will open the door…"

* * *

><p>Homura's eyelids fluttered open.<p> 


	2. Road to Perdition

Then there was neither death nor immortality,

nor was there then the torch of night and day.

The One breathed windlessly and self-sustaining.

There was that One then, and there was no other.

- The Rig Veda

Homura's eyelids fluttered open.

"What a fucked up dream."

Cold rays of pre-dawn sunlight filtered in through the gaps of her shutters, casting a baleful gaze over the things in Homura's bedroom. The spartan furnishings bristled with concealed firearms of all shapes and sizes: a Beretta and a few boxes of cartridges were buried in her corner dresser, a semiautomatic shotgun lay under a double mattress, and several rifles and submachine guns were mounted on a hidden wall behind a false bookcase. Strictly speaking, Homura no longer needed the guns – Madoka's last gift made them obsolete – but through her centuries of life and death she'd discovered the value of having a contingency for everything.

Homura struggled to get up, and failed miserably. She looked over at the clock on her drawer a few inches away and groaned. 4:33AM, screamed the bright red digits. Her sheets were soaked with sweat.

A knock on her bedroom door, then an inquiry of some concern – "Akemi-sempai, are you alright?"

Homura finally sat up, discarding her covers. She rubbed at her eyes, banishing faint images of that sinister maze. "I'm fine. You can come in, if you like."

The door opened, flooding the room with a harsh fluorescence. A tall boy of about thirteen years entered, fidgeting nervously. Homura acknowledged him with a nod.

"I'm fine," repeated the magical girl as she got to her feet, gripping a headboard for balance. "Just another nightmare. What are you doing up so early?"

Tatsuya Kaname's brown eyes twitched. "Bad dreams. Though probably not as bad as yours, I think."

Awkward tension hung in the air, thick enough to cut with a knife. He coughed. "I'll be going then. To make breakfast, that is."

"Yeah… Good idea."

Tatsuya retreated. She moved to cancel the alarm on her clock, brushing aside a backdated copy of Soldier of Fortune that fell limply on the carpet. Why did she even bother setting the thing? The last time she had a full night of rest was the March 16th of her first leap. Ever since then, her dreams were haunted by visions of fire and sword, memories of things not meant to be seen by mortal eyes, a sacrifice of Andromeda to Cetus that replayed itself until the ravenous serpent consumed too much and died of its own gluttony.

She felt some of the bitterness gnawing at her again. Across the centuries of battle she'd endured there was only one constant: Madoka's martyrdom. There were variations between leaps, but every single time she would contract for the sins of a universe perpetuated by raw despair. There were also differences in the proximate cause of her damnation – she made the wish to save a kitten from death the first time they met, and towards the end she would become Death to protect Homura – but always fate, uncaring fate conspired to ensure their separation. If anything, Madoka's final sacrifice made things worse. The threads of destiny now bound Homura to a life she hated, protecting a world that ripped away her most precious _friend_.

A polluted, corrupt world that still spun on human grief… she hated it so much. But she defended it.

For Madoka, who so loved the world that she gave her soul to annihilation.

* * *

><p>"Thanks."<p>

Tatsuya's cooking had vastly improved over the past year, thought Homura as she chewed over fried eggs and toast. He insisted on helping out around the apartment wherever he could, as a form of repayment for having a place to stay after-

Homura took a sip of orange juice.

"How is it, Akemi-sempai?"

"Good. I'd suggest a little less salt next time though. And once again, please just call me Homura. I'd really appreciate it."

Tatsuya flushed slightly and shifted in his chair. "Homura…" He seemed uncomfortable. "Homura-sensei, I'd like to ask you something."

"Concerning?"

"The nightmares."

Homura winced. "I've told you before, they're really nothing to concern yourself with." After countless lifetimes she'd grown quite adept at lying.

Tatsuya grasped the edge of the little table tightly, his voice strained and his knuckles white. "I might as well stop sleeping. Every time I close my eyes I see it again."

Homura got up and reached over, putting a comforting hand on the boy's shoulder. She could relate, after all.

"I've been there. I'm still there, ok? It can't be helped."

"How can you be so nonchalant about it? Seeing the end of the world, seeing those _things_ kill the people you love…" Homura felt him shudder.

"I'm long past human frailties," said Homura. She glanced at the purple diamond on her fingernail.

Tatsuya wanted to puke. "It's been three years and I still think about them every day. Mom. Dad. Our house, our family, they're always there lingering in my thoughts. I wake up crying, just imagining them lying there all torn up- and all I want to do is run to their room and see them again." He wiped at his face, ashamed. "Please forgive me, Akemi Homura-sensei. I should be stronger than this by now."

Homura shook her head. "_Daijoubu._ There's nothing to forgive." She hugged Tatsuya, who bit back tears against her shoulder.

"T-thanks," he sniffed.

"You're doing fine," reassured the magical girl. She cupped his cheek gently. "It gets easier with time."

Tatsuya nodded. "And practice. I've noticed." His expression became grimly determined, filled with a resolve to make his sempai proud and banish the demons that took everything. "I'm looking forward to the hunt with Tomoe-san tonight. Very much looking forward to it." There was an edge to his voice now, a hardness uncomfortably familiar to Homura.

"We'll appreciate the backup again, definitely. It's still a bit early for that though. I don't think the sun's come up yet."

"That it hasn't. I'll go review the maps for our patrol and get my stuff ready."

"Be especially careful to clean the rifle, Tatsuya," warned Homura. "Remember what I've said about the M-16, the direct impingement means it shits where it eats. You have to keep it sparkling or else it will jam. And you can't kill demons with a jammed gun. Oh, I made some more thermite rounds for the grenade launcher, they'll be in the basement."

"_Hai,_ Akemi-sempai." Tatsuya departed with a bow of respect. "I pray for good hunting tonight."

Homura's heart sank as she watched him leave. The law of cycles did not merely apply to Puella Magi – she bore silent witness to Tatsuya walking the same lonely road to perdition that she'd tread before.

Correction – the same road she still wandered down, without any guidepost beyond a vague commitment to do what Madoka would have wanted.

She sat back down and ran a hand through her hair, pausing at the red ribbon.

The future refused to change, she reflected moodily over her half-empty cup of juice. The Puella Magi still faced an empty life of war and sacrifice, still existed only as cattle for predatory things from the darkest recesses of space to harvest. And when they could fight no longer, their empty husks burnt out into oblivion. Just like Miki Sayaka and Sakura Kyouko.

She unraveled the ribbon and stared at its fraying edges in her hand.

Nothing had changed for her friends. Sayaka lost the will to survive, as she always did, when Kyousuke rejected her confession. Her death in the remade world was clean, meaningful, at least – more than could be said for Kyouko's passing a few weeks later. She still recalled that horrid spring evening, visiting her squalid tenement with Mami to pick her up for another night of demonslaying. The cherry blossoms were in full bloom when they discovered Kyouko's lifeless corpse clutching a creased and tear-stained purikura of her and Sayaka, the jagged shards of her broken Soul Gem scattered across a floor that was already littered with food packaging.

Homura rinsed out her glass.

Mami took the loss of yet another friend particularly hard. Yet another reminder of what lay ahead for herself… she endured it though. Mami survived the trauma.

Not unscathed though, not emotionally. She'd grown a bit too attached to Homura, terrified of losing her last real friend and facing the Magical Beasts alone once more. There was an unfortunate incident involving alcohol intoxication and a game of pretend; it ended with Homura hating herself just a little bit more. There was a mutual agreement to never speak of it again between them, but occasionally Mami would ask about the identity of Madoka to which Homura's lies were far more believable than the truth.

Those fears of abandonment were a little assuaged when the demons came for the Kaname household. Little Tatsuya had just returned home from the corner store, laden with snacks, only to find his parents being devoured by a monstrous, marble-white bogeyman. He was delivered by a seraph with silver wings, and his parents avenged in a curtain of golden flame that reduced the Magical Beast to black cinders.

Homura tried not to think of the awful days that followed. Mami revealed the secrets of the Magical Beasts as she understood them like she did in every other timeline. Homura bit back her deeper insights as she watched Tatsuya's psyche stretched to the breaking point, still struggling to accept the senseless murder of his family. But what doesn't kill you makes you stronger.

Under Homura's guidance he'd become a valuable asset in their war against the demons. And a good friend to boot.

His features reminded her of Madoka, but the events of his life repeated her own: everything he loved stolen by monsters beyond human (or alien) understanding, forced to grow up far too early, fear and doubt replaced by clarity of purpose. For Homura, it was the memory of Madoka; for her brother, it was the memory of Junko and Tomohisa.

She recognized the dark and deadly path her apprentice traveled, saw her unquenched desire for vengeance reflected behind his hazel gaze. Whenever Tatsuya raised his rifle to his shoulder, Homura felt pangs of guilt stab at her – if only she'd been faster, she could have saved the innocent boy from learning that in the grim darkness of Mitikihara Town there was only an eternity of carnage and slaughter and the laughter of thirsting gods.

Then again, she could never save anyone in thousands of years of trying.

* * *

><p>AN:

Standard disclaimer, I don't own PMMM or any of the characters, etc.

This is kind of a KH crossover but it really isn't close enough to put into the section, I think. There won't be any keyblades or shenanigans with DARK DARKNESS.

Well. Probably not.

Very grateful for the reviews by the way. Rest assured that it only goes downhill from here.

I was thinking of doing some supplemental shorts while brainstorming this, putting some more detail into Kyouko's suicide and MamiHomu's rescue of Tatsuya from a Magical Beast. Maybe some omake chapters.


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